293. Accountability

As much as C.W. annoys with his get rich schemes, he can worry one to death with what he calls “negative cognitivy pods.” Don’t look it up, it’s his translation of a Falloonian term for which we have no direct counterpart. It has to do with facets of American life that make no sense and would, as he puts it, be normally "forbidden by law, rule, or other authority.” We don’t prohibit them. We not only tolerate them, we laud them, and—at least some of us—profit from them.

We were walking along the riverfront in Little Rock. He was in a favored shape, a striking resemblance to the late broadcast giant Edward R. Murrow. He was enjoying favorite pastimes, testing my patience and flipping lighted cigarette butts at bicyclists, a practice that began when one yelled at him one day to “Get out of the (expletive deleted) way.” He had just sent one cascading over an embankment and landing in a wetlands lake.

“It’s this whole accountability thing,” he said. “Why do you suppose your species has abandoned the concept?”

“What makes you think we have abandoned the concept of accountability?”

He didn’t answer. He took a long drag from a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and blew the smoke from his nose.

“Why,” I said, “just the other day our legislature tried to pass a law requiring a woman wanting to protect her body first to have a long plastic probe thrust up her …”

He interrupted. “I’m not talking about women or children,” he said. “I’m talking about male and corporate humans.” He finished his cigarette and another cyclist left the sidewalk.

“Would you stop that?” I said. “You’re going to get us arrested and, besides, you’ll ruin your health.”

“I have health insurance, don’t I? Besides, I can disappear in an instant.”

I thrust my hand into my pockets and kept walking.

“Let me give you an example,” he said.

“Pray do,” I said.

“Your so-called ‘for-profit’ universities.”

“What about them?”

“It’s pretty much agreed that they provide no useful result, right?”

“So I understand.”

“But public programs allow young people to borrow vast sums of money to enroll in them.”

I began to see where he was going. “Yes,” I said. “Vast sums.”

“Sums which can’t be paid back.”

“Afraid so.”

“So are the alleged schools held accountable for non-payments?”

“No,” I said. “It’s the taxpayers eventually.”

“What about,” he said, “realtors and bankers who load young folks with mortgages they know can’t be paid. Then immediately sell those mortgages to avoid the consequences?”

“What about them?”

“Who pays the goods transported by truck, train, ship, or aircraft?”

“Society pays the freight,” I said, “and you need to get your Galactic Universal Translator adjusted. People aren’t going to understand you when you talk.”

“That’s their problem,” he said. “My GUT is fine. Now about this plastic probe …”

“Yes.”

“It’s pretty much a punishment applied to a female for an indiscretion, right?”

I thought. “Yes, that’s right.”

“So, according to all the known laws of the Universe of which I am aware, it takes more than the female to create this indiscretion, right?”

“Correct,” I said.

“So is the plastic probe applied to the male half of the act as well?”

“Of course not.”

“So he has no restraints, from an accountability standpoint, to avoid the practice that causes the indiscretion?”

“No, no accountability whatsoever. So, you are correct, we have a problem with, with, … whatever.” To tell you the truth, I found myself distracted, for I was stuck with the image of that plastic probe. Then we walked by some youths playing a game, new to these parts, in which bags were tossed at holes in boxes with slanted fronts. I fought images, and we walked in silence for a while.

“So you do agree your species suffers from a negative cognitivity pod in this area of accountability?”



It seem to me that if you must have wars,
veterans should be honored more than
once a year. Just my opinion. - C.W.

“I tore my thoughts away from the children’s game. “Well, yes,” I said. “But it is our problem and shouldn’t concern the rest of the galaxy.”



He started to flip a cigarette butt, saw that the cyclist was a police officer, thought better of it, and handed it to me. For some distance, he didn’t speak. Then he turned to look at me in deep thought.

“Tell me,” he said. “Whose children does your country send to war these days?”

Please click some ads.
Big Dope has cut off my allowance.

Oh, and see www.wattensawpress.com

And ... www.allhatnocattle.com

Finally, buy Big Dope's book so he'll shut up about it.
- C.W.
 

Available at major on-line retailers, or
www.wattensawpress.com

267. Facts

“What on earth are you doing?” There was Eddie the Entrepreneur sitting in the middle of my living room floor amidst a pile of posters and paper scraps. Of course it was C.W. in one of his favorite shapes, the young genius who will someday match Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg in fame and fortune.  He looked up, pushed his long, shaggy hair to the back of his head, and stared over his horn-rimmed glasses at me.

“I’m glad to see you,” he said. “I need to test some ideas.”

“Ideas for what?”

“My new non-difference between the amount earned and the amount spent in buying, operating, or producing something.”

“Do you mean your non-profit?”

“There you go repeating me gain.”

I ignored him. “So what are you not going to make a profit in now?”

“This,” he said, holding up an ad mock-up. There in bold type was a call-to-action for one to “Cure Cognichasm.”

“Cognichasm?”

“Yep. You all need to be cured of it.”

“What is your solution?”

“A seven-week course designed to cure one of the greatest mental shortcomings of your species,” he said.

“And that is?”

“Your apparent inability to connect cognitive phenomena,” he said, “and the mental chasm it produces.”

I began to sense his meaning. “And you got this idea when?”

He looked at me sternly. “You know very well when.”

“Those ten so-called ‘presidential candidates’ didn’t constitute a fair sample of the ability of our species to engage in linear thinking,” I said.

“Well they did mention a cure for a problem that was tried by the Chinese, with no apparent success, centuries ago. That’s a pretty big cognitive gap.”

“They were just kidding about ‘building an immigrant-proof wall’ and maintaining it,” I said. “After all, they were appearing on an entertainment venue.”

“Forget them,” he said. “Between the ten of them, they couldn’t connect two dots if they were standing in a field of sunflowers.” He consulted a sheet of paper filled with typing. “Let’s look at some examples.” He read for a few seconds. “Here’s one,” he said. “We can stop teen pregnancies by telling teens not to have sex.” He gave me a smug nod. “Now just how disconnected is that from reality?”

I was on the defensive all of a sudden. “I didn’t come up with that,” I said, “but some people believe it.”

“Oh yes,” he said, “the teens of your species have such a long history of doing exactly what adults say.”

“That’s a strained example.”

“Oh really?” he said. “Try this instead: Sex education leads to teen-aged pregnancies.”

I couldn’t think of an answer, so he kept reading.

“Cutting revenue inflow increases available revenue.”

I said nothing.

“The more you charge on your credit card, the more money you make.”

I said nothing.

“The only way to save a country is to destroy it.”

I said nothing.

“Facts are stupid things.”

Silence on my part.

 “Training children to excel on standardized tests makes them more educated.”

Oh dear.

“The drinking of whiskey puts the spirit of conviviality in one’s heart and enhances our existence.”



What can I add? - C.W.

“Now wait just a minute.”

“Oh,” he said. “Excuse me. My mistake.” He ran his finger down the list. “Here it is: The drinking of whiskey destroys our families, communities, and civic organizations.”

“And your point?”

“Each member of your species tends to interpret facts to fit its own beliefs.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I said. “We can be as logical as the next species, perhaps more so. And we are a pleasant example. You said yourself that drinking whiskey—especially, I think, Four Roses Single-Barrel—helps a lot.”

“You aren’t much help,” he said, “maybe my fans can come up with some examples.”

Click some ads. My production costs are soaring.

Oh, and see www.wattensawpress.com

And ... www.allhatnocattle.com

Finally, buy Big Dope's book so he'll shut up about it.
- C.W.

Available at major on-line retailers, or
www.wattensawpress.com

235. Movies

“What’s up?”

C.W. was sprawled on the couch at our farm watching TV. At least I assumed it was C.W. The form I saw was more from a late 1960s crash pad than anything modern. I’m talking tie-dyed shirt, faded jeans, and long, late-John Lennon hair. The only thing that jarred was a pair of modern running shoes.

Don’t ask.

He answered, “Watching a movie. Interesting one, too.”

“What is it?”

“Something called ‘Not Clean or Pure Harry’ and it’s not bad.”

“Say what?” Then I saw a young Clint Eastwood snarl “Well do you, punk?” and I understood. “Oh, it’s ‘Dirty Harry.’”

“Ain’t that what I said, punk?”

“Uh, well … oh never mind. What do you think of it? I probably looked a lot like you do the first time I saw it.”

“Interesting,” he said. “I see it as a study between the polar extremes of human physiology as concerns the maintenance of an orderly society.”

“How so?” I said.

“You have a character—it’s just a movie, you know—and the character touches what may be an archaic remnant, that is the visceral desire to protect the tribe or individual from outside forces or disruption within the established order.”

I looked him. “My,” I said, “aren’t we getting intellectual in our older years?”

He ignored me. I said, “How old are you anyway?”

A commercial appeared so he turned to me. “In your years?”

“In earth years.”

“Probably a couple of centuries, On Falloonia, we measure time by the development of our ability to be cognizant of universal truths and not by a concept based on solar orbits.”

“Anyway,” I said, “so the Dirty Harry character is just a residual urge from our evolutionary development?”

“It’s just a movie, you know.”

“Well yeah. Is that all there is to it?”

“No, balanced against that rather prehistoric survival instinct is the knowledge that societies must learn to live within a framework of established and accepted social structures, hence the conflict and tension.”

“So the prehistoric wins this time, right?”

“Nobody wins,” he said. “It’s just a movie, you know.”

“Seems to me that Dirty Harry wins.”

“He prevails,” C.W. said. “That is different from winning.”

“How so?”

C.W. thought. “He prevailed against his opponent,” he said. Then he broke into that wicked little grin he uses so well. “Tis a consummation devoutly to be desired by our visceral side, right?”

“Right.”

“But tomorrow he must live in a world of more subtle tones, would you agree?”

“Well, yeah.”

“How many of those who cheered when the bad guy’s body exploded would want the Dirty Character to be their arresting officer if they were caught speeding on a deserted stretch of highway at midnight and he was in a bad mood?”

“I see your point.”

“The film does what it was intended to do,” he said. “That is to sharpen our cognitive skills. No more. No less.” He nodded. “It’s just a movie you know.”

“I wish,” I said. “Fast forward to modern times. That actor who plays Dirty Harry is a producer and director of films now.”

“Oh,” he said. “So his films are excellent vehicles with which to sharpen our thinking skills.”

“Uh,” I said, “not exactly.”

“What then, to introduce us to higher level thinking?”

“Uh,” I said. “That may be the intent. It hasn’t been the result with his latest.”

“Impossible,” he said. “What has it done?”

“Seem that it has made folks want to kill one another.”

“Impossible,” he said. “It’s only a movie, you know.”

 

Well don't we wish things were this simple? - C.W.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Click an ad. We need more ammo.

Also see, www.wattensawpress.com

and www.deltadreaming.blogspot.com

- C.W.

Confusion

Good morning friends and followers.
It's raining here and I'm trying to get some nagging questions about your species answered. My keepers, Mr. and Mrs. Big Dope, said to quit bothering them and to ask my readers. They threw in one question each while they were at it. So, here goes:

Why do Americans put 10 pillows on a bed upon which two people sleep?

Why does the media quote someone named Joe the Plumber?

Why is Sarah Palin considered relevant?
Why would a person who doesn’t plan to assault anything want an assault rifle?
Why is the British royal family considered newsworthy to Americans?
Why is the British royal family considered newsworthy to the British?
Why do some people who say that “God” made a disabled person the way he is refuse to say that “God” made a gay person the way she is?
Why is prostitution illegal most everywhere in your country?
How do deniers of natural selection explain breasts on the male species?
Why do Americans want the Ten Commandments on courthouse lawns but not the Beatitudes?
This one from Big Dope himself: Why do some people who wear American flag pins on their lapels vote to refuse funds to support American veterans?
And this one from Mrs. Big Dope: Why are expensive women’s clothes purposely mislabeled as smaller sizes?

I can't look at this too long.
It makes my electrodes smoke. - C.W.

 

Also check out www.wattesawpress.com

And click an ad to help my earth family keep me.



Shopping

Dear Friends and Followers:

Big Dope took me to shopping with him yesterday and I came back more confused about your species than ever, to wit:

1. Every Falloonian teenager knows that bleach is one of those unique substances that cannot be altered. The compound is either bleach or it isn’t bleach. Any attempt at altering it results in a compound that is no longer bleach. So why, I ask, are there multiple brands with a great range of prices?

2. I have read where the standards for importing or producing vodka in the United States are simple and straightforward. It must be colorless, odorless, and tasteless. Someone please explain to me why there are so many offerings and why some are so much more expensive than others.

3. Isn’t a person with access to a public and regulated water system who buys bottled water a bit like a person with a sexy and willing spouse who goes to a brothel?

Your Friend C.W.

185. Choices

This time it was I who was in a quandary. I think C.W. sensed this for he showed up in the form and dress of a workman, someone who knew about home repairs. That was the sort of help I desired.

It was like this. I needed to have some repairs done on our downtown condominium. They involved a good bit of money so I didn’t want to make a mistake in the hiring of a tradesman. So, I consulted C.W. He seemed willing to help as always, and that is not always a good sign.

“Thing is, “I said, “I have narrowed it to two choices. Actually, there are only two contractors that do this sort of work in the building.”

“And?” He assumed a rather pedantic tone.

“Well, there is Donnie. He comes highly recommended. He is very knowledgeable about construction techniques. He has experience, and is extremely thoughtful and courteous. He truly seems to have the best interest of the client in mind.”

“And?”

“There is Ralph. His work is spotty and inconsistent. Management has a problem with his neglecting to clean up after his work.”

“And?”

“He is rude to his clients at times, particularly to female clients. There are also some rumors that he has broken things and not taken responsibility.”

“And?”

“There is a general feeling that he doesn’t seem to care much about his work.”

“And?”

“That’s all. Those are my choices.”

“Choices?” he said. “It seems pretty obvious to me. Donnie is your man.”

“There is one problem,” I said.

“And?”

“I know for a fact that Donnie believes in capital punishment.”

“And?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I think it is a barbaric custom and we should outlaw it as most civilized countries have.”

“And?”

“I can’t see my way clear to hiring a man who believes in capital punishment.”

He took a moment to think. Then he looked at me with that stare he uses when our species has truly confused him. He said, “May I ask you a question?”

“Certainly,” I said.

“Just what the hell does his belief in criminal justice have to do with working on your condo?”

“I just can’t select someone who doesn’t believe the way I do.”

“Even when they are otherwise qualified far above the other choice?”

“You just don’t understand how much this single issue means to me,” I said. “I guess it sounds bizarre to you.”

“No,” he said. “In fact it seems to be the way a great number of your species selects a political candidate.”

That set me back on my heels and I couldn’t answer.

“Did it ever occur to you,” he said, “that in working together you might understand better why he feels the way he does?”

Choosing wisely seems to be a job that
confuses a great many of your species. - C.W.

I still had no answer.

He continued. “Or,” he said, “have you considered the possibility that exposure to your fine example might cause him to modify his position? And in the meantime, you would be benefiting from quality work.”

“But,” I said, “he believes in capital punishment.”

Problems

Dear Friends and Followers:
One of the things that troubles me about your species is your approach to problem solving. For an example, let’s look at a recent problem that a part of your country is having with its drinking water. It seems that an unregulated (at least since 1991) chemical plant has leaked toxic chemicals into the river that supplies drinking water to a large area in your state of West Virginia. Here is the problem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, it is my understanding that the voters of that state usually narrow their focus to a single issue when choosing politicians to care for their people. To illustrate this, here is the proposed solution to the problem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unfortunately, as I understand it, the river has not yet complied with the demands of the Purification Committee.

The Alien C.W.

Confused as Always

Dear Followers and Friends

Please come to my rescue. I do believe I heard one of your TV pundits claiming that disaster is ahead in Colorado. It seems that with the legalization of marijuana, there is this danger that children might find some lying around and harm themselves with it. So we must control it? Uh. Help me with this one please.

Once you start controlling dangerous
substances, where do you stop? - C.W.

Your Friend

The Alien C.W.

181. Illusions

“Okay, put your card back in the deck.”

I did. He made a big show of shuffling several times, then cutting the deck twice before spreading it on the table in front of us. He waved a hand over the cards in a mysterious fashion and then suddenly plucked one from the deck. He held it up to me.

“Is this your card?”

“Uh, no,” I said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’ll be a Kodamflabbugast,” he said, employing a word for the Falloonian units with slow intellects.

“C.W.,” I said. “Why the sudden interest in magic?” I had to admit, he was dressed for the part, tuxedo, top hat, and all.

“Money to be made in illusions,” he said. “Trouble is—I need an assistant.” He slumped and looked toward the kitchen. “Think Mrs. Big Dope might change her mind?”

I said, “I doubt it.”

“Even if I drop the part about the sexy outfit?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

He thought for a moment and apparently abandoned the idea. I thought it was a good decision.

“So what makes you think there is money to be made in magic?”

He leaned back in his chair and took off his top hat. A pigeon flew from within it and flew to the back of chair. “Your species seems to thrive on illusions,” he said. “I simply thought I would take advantage of it.” He unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket. A small rabbit peeked from inside. “Everyone else does it.” The rabbit nodded in agreement.

“Does what?”

“Takes advantage of your trait of being easily fooled or cheated.”

“Are you trying to say our gullibility?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

I said, “Forget it. Tell me why you think my species is gullible.”

He thought. “For one thing,” he said, “you think reality TV is real.”

I had to agree somewhat. “I don’t,” I said. “But there are some who do.”

“They are the ones who spend money,” he said.

“Maybe so,” I said. “Any other examples?”

“Professional wrestling?”

“That appeal is limited,” I said. “Most folks view it as entertainment. Only a few take it seriously.”

“But they are allowed to mingle, drive, and vote.”

He had me there. My confidence was waning. “Anything else?”

“You used to think you had to sacrifice folks to make the crops grow.”

“Ah,” I said, sensing an opportunity. “But we don’t believe that anymore.”

“But now you believe you have to sacrifice some folks to make the economy grow.”

“But we have our share of educated units,” I said, using his terminology. “They see through things.”

Any species that truly believes making
rich people richer will make poor people
rich someday needs to re-examine
its cognitive capabilities. - C.W.

“Like your supreme public officials appointed to decide cases in a court of law? The ones who believe a corporation is a human being?”

Ouch.

“And I’m not even going to get into the areas of talking snakes and boats full of lions and tigers.” The rabbit shuddered.

“Look,” I said. “Let’s change the subject.” I decided to confess. “That really was my card you picked. I was just fooling with you because I was tired of the magic show.”

“You deceived me for your own ends?”

I sighed and slumped in my chair. “Yes,” I said. “Yes I did. Yes.”

“Well I’ll be a Kodamflabbugast,” he said.

 

The rabbit shook his head in disapproval, then ducked back inside the coat.

Affluenza

Friends and Followers:

Please someone help me. I am trying to explain a troubling news story (Click here)  to the Falloonian Elders. Can someone please tell me what “affluenza” is? Are the rich above the law in your society because of it? Would there be a contrasting disease called “povertilosis” that would excuse poor people from criminal activity? Please, my Cannacopawitit glands are smoking.

Sometimes I have to defend your species from
charges of pervasive insanity and my words
are not equal to the task. - C.W.

(Editor’s note: He refers to a condition in which a Falloonian’s mental processing facilities become overloaded and malfunction. Remember how Captain Kirk would defeat a logical mind by introducing illogic?)
If you have any explanation whatsoever, please comment below.
Oh, and please click on an ad. It makes Big Dope (who doesn't suffer from "affuenza" in the least) a little money.
The Alien C.W.

177. Conspiracies

Perhaps the faithful reader has noticed that C.W., the visiting Alien, who is able to assume any shape he wants—at will—can prove tiresome at times. If that is not the case, please allow me an example.

He showed up this morning before daylight, a time I relish because of its quietude, in the most awful getup you can imagine.

He said he was a “Master of Intrigue.”

Now if the readers are old enough to have enjoyed the “Spy vs. Spy” episodes in the Mad Magazines of the 1960s, you can imagine how he appeared. If not, just take my word for it. It was weird, even for the alien.

He entered by sliding along a wall and eyeing me between glances to and fro to see if anyone else was in the room. Assured that we were alone, he eased into a chair.

When I acknowledged his presence, he said, “Did you know that Hillary Clinton orchestrated the destruction of the World Trade Towers?”

I refused to honor him with a response.

“It’s true,” he said.

I said, “Would you please leave?”

“Can you not stand the truth?”

“Truth I can abide,” I said. “Insanity unhinges me.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that she was only a few hundred miles away and was overheard to say to an aide, ‘It will be quicker by plane’ that very morning?”

“Don’t you have something to do?’

He changed the subject. “Want to know who killed JFK?”

“I already do. It was a man named Lee Harvey Oswald.”

“Ha,” he said. “That’s what they want you to think.”

“Who is they?”

“The CIA, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the FBI, LBJ, the United Nations, organized crime, Fidel Castro, the Dallas Police Department, the staff at Parkland Hospital, the Texas Rangers, and Walt Disney.”

“Walt Disney?”

“He was in on it too.”

I said, “C.W., who have you been talking to?”

“I just listen and watch,” he said. “It’s all there on the History Channel.”

“The History Channel?” I closed my eyes.

“And Fox News.”

I sighed.

“What?” he said. “Don’t you believe in conspiracies?”

“I try not to let the thought of them destroy my cognitive capacity.”

His face turned into a snarl. “So you don’t believe they happen?”

“Oh, on occasion,” I said. “We did have the so called ‘Watergate Conspiracy’ some years ago.”
 

“That was the one set up,” he said, “by Jimmy Carter to ruin Richard Nixon’s presidency.”

I ignored him. “Then there was the short-lived conspiracy by Ronald Reagan’s crew to sell weapons to America’s archenemy the Ayatollah Khomeini for cash with which to fund a war in South America. All illegal and treasonous.”

He said nothing, so I continued. “Want to know the interesting part?”

He said, “What?”

“Those involved a mere handful of folks and they unraveled almost immediately.”

By carefully choosing our sources of
information, we can adopt any paradigm
of reality we choose. That's exciting. - C.W.

“So?”

“So,” I said. “Maybe vast conspiracies would be more difficult to maintain than we could ever imagine.”

“So they never happen?”

I said, “Oh they can. Look at how Yoko Ono, Mick Jagger, Ike Turner, Peter Townshend, and Paul Anka conspired to break up the Beatles.”

170. Connections

As many times as we have talked about it, C.W. still uses my computer while I’m sleeping. I wouldn’t mind if he used it for research, but inevitably I receive these strange deliveries after one of his sessions.

By the way, does anyone know what a person might do with a used milking machine? I mean a person who doesn’t own a single cow?

But back to the matter at hand, I heard him giggling this morning and went in to see what might be up. There sat a sixteen-year old boy with oversized spectacles laughing and punching keys.

“Loookit, Big Dope,” he said. “your species just cracks me up. They are, like, weird and I’m like, about to roll on the floor.”

I needed coffee.

“No, seriously,” he said. “Are you, like, incapable of linking spots so that contact is established?”

“Connecting the dots?”

“Do you know that you, like, have an annoying habit of repeating things I say?”

As I made coffee, I slowly counted to ten. “And what dots have we not connected this time?”

“I’m, like looking at your ‘Visage Page’ and …”

“My Fa…, oh never mind. So what do you see?”

“Like weird stuff. Lookit. Here’s a woman and she’s, like, angry about people on welfare, and I’m like, ‘Are you kidding me?’ and she’s, like, ‘No, I’m serious They should be left to starve.’ and I’m like, look at where you live, and she’s like, ‘what difference does that make?’ and I’m like, you live in one of those ‘color of snow aviation cities.’”

“Stop for a moment,” I said. He did and I poured myself a cup of coffee. “A color of … do you mean a ‘white-flight’ city?”

“Like, there you go again.”

“When is the last time you had your translator adjusted?”

He ignored me. “Lookit,” he said. “She, like, drives 30 miles into the provider city each day to work.”

“So?”

“Who does she, like, think pays for the highway lanes she uses?”

“I dunno. The Koch Brothers?”

“You make the spontaneous sounds and movements of the face and body that are the instinctive expressions of lively amusement and sometimes also of contempt or derision at me, but I am serious,” he said.

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“You, like, are too.”

“Okay,” I said. “Who builds the highways that allow her to escape reality?”

“Your state uses the sales tax partly to build commuter highway lanes,” he said. “So some of the cost is, like, paid by the least of those among you when they buy winter clothes for their kids.”

“You do have a point,” I said.

“In exact terms, without vagueness,” he said.

Sometimes I think you lack the ability to
analyze a situation and address it logically. - C.W.

“Yes, precisely. By the way, would you have them check your Galactic Universal Translator?”

“My GUT?

“In exact terms,” I said.

“Why?” he said. “I’m not sick.” He typed on the keyboard. “Now here’s a man, and he is a senator, who says that we don’t, like, need national health care since we can simply drop those lacking sufficient money to live at a standard considered comfortable or normal in a society, like, off at the nearest emergency room for their health care needs.”

“You can drop me off with them.”

“Like, what?” he said.

167. Explanations

“Look here Big Dope, you’ve got to help,” C.W. was saying. “I’ve got some explaining to do.” He reached and grabbed a strand of grass and began to chew on it. We were walking around our farm checking the fences and getting some exercise on the first nice day of early fall. He had assumed the form a hick farmer, complete with a depression-era straw hat and overalls.

I was hoping nobody was watching us. “What do you have to explain now?” I asked.

“A bunch of stuff,” he said, pointing the stalk of grass at me. “The Elder Council on Falloonia is considering recalling me.”

“Recalling you? What have you done?”

“It ain’t me,” he said. He reached down and pick up a dried segment of cow manure and held it up for inspection. He eyed it carefully and seemed about to take a bite of it.

“Put that down,” I said.

He sailed it across the pasture like a flying saucer. “It’s your species,” he said. “Your behavior has them stupefied as with alcoholic drink.”

“Befuddled?”

“That’s what I said. It confuses me when you repeat my words.”

I sighed. “So what have we done now?”

“Where do I start?” he said. He stripped a small branch from a gum tree and began to swish it through the air. “What about this tendency some of you have to vote for individuals to run the government who hate the government?”

“Not all of us do.”

“Enough to arouse galactic curiosity.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“There is this thing called ‘The Prosperity Gospel’ that has some elders scratching all three of their heads.”

“Three heads? You have three heads in your natural form?”

He stopped and turned. “Forget I said that. I was just speaking  in the nature of or involving a figure of speech, especially a metaphor.”

“You may have been speaking figuratively but you distinctly said that Falloonians have three heads.” I giggled.

“I’ll be in trouble if this gets out,” he said.

I couldn’t stop laughing. “What do you call yours? Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod?”

“This isn’t funny,” he said.

More laughter. “Moe, Larry, and Curly?”

“Stop it,” he said, swinging his gum tree branch at me.”

“I know,” I said. “The Fadduh, the Son, and the Gallactic Ghost.”  I was practically rolling. I stopped laughing when he spun around and stalked away. I ran after him. “I sorry,” I said. “Go ahead and tell me about your troubles with our religious doctrine.” He slowed down and let me join him.

There are three things about your species that worry me:
- Your inability to think in linear fashion,
-Your complete lack of logic in making decisions, and
- Your disregard for the rational method. - C.W/

“We wonder,” he said. “How your thoughts get around the inconsistencies of preaching wealth from the teachings of a prophet who despised riches.”

At this moment, the Dark One himself must have invaded me. “Which one wonders,” I said, “Huey, Dewey, or Louie?” I doubled over laughing.

This time he did stalk away. As he did, he yelled back at me. “Go ahead and laugh. Then you can explain why a man wearing a twenty-five thousand dollar watch preaches the gospel of a man who never even had a home to live in.”

“Wait, Athos,” I yelled after him. “Porthos and Aramis are coming.”

Some travels with the Alien are more fun than others.

159. Reflections

I’ve always liked grandmothers, so when I found that C.W. had assumed the shape of a SLOL and was sitting in my living room knitting, I couldn’t help smiling.

“Why the sweet little old lady shape?”

“Sit down child,” she said.

I did as she told me. Her hands flashed as the knitting needs clicked against one another. She didn’t say anything.

“Nice morning,” I said. “See we had some rain last night.

“All things come in their own time,” she said.

“Uh,” I said. “Want to give me a hint of what you’re up to.”

“Just reflecting,” she said. “You know what today is, don’t you?”

“Saturday?”

“It’s been 44years since we first took notice of you. The day you took your ‘giant step for mankind.’”

“The first moon landing?”

“We thought you were all so cute.”

“I suppose we were. It was a great day.”

“Well what the bloody hell happened?”

I almost spilled my coffee.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said. “I forgot where I was for a moment.”

As the modern mystery books say, I sat in stunned silence.

“It’s just that you have been such a burden to us all since that day.”

“Since that day?”

“We thought at the time that you had the capabilities to get past some of your shortcomings.”

“Shortcomings?”

“Pigmentation preoccupation and such.” Her fingers flashed with silent fury.

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“You have such a capacity for love, on occasion,” she said. “Why when that little girl out in Colorado was murdered that time, the whole country went into mourning.”

“I seem to remember.”

She studied her knitting for a few seconds, then looked up at me. She spoke softly. “Then the whole country seems to stick its head up its ass and wonder why the lights went out.”

“Something troubling you?”

“Pigmentation preoccupation, like I said.”

“As in?”

“Why doesn’t it bother some people when a young man with black skin gets murdered for walking down the street not bothering a soul?”

“I don’t know.”

She stopped knitting. “Your species calls it, I believe, schizophrenia.”

“And what do you call it?”

“Just being assholes.”

“C.W.,” I said. “I think you may be having one of your cases of, what is it you call it, role warp?”

“Oh child,” she said and offered me a smile that would have melted hardened steel. “I’m just picking up bad habits from your species. You can be so sweet at times.”

“And?”

“And then you can be totally fu…”

“Shhh,” I interrupted her. “My wife may walk in at any time.”

“ … funny beyond belief at others. What’s wrong with you?”

In Grandma's day, a good dose of
Senna Leaf Tea in the spring
cleaned all that meanness
out of you kids. - C.W.Add caption

I sighed in relief. “Oh nothing.”

She smiled again and resumed her knitting. “Oh child, she said. Poor sweet child. You can make me so proud at times.”

“Yes?” She was beginning to make me feel warm inside.

“Then sometimes you make my ass crave a dip of snuff.”

156. Answers

Hello friends. Big Dope is taking a vacation this week and it gives me time to answer some of your mail.

Dear C.W.: My name is Stevie and I am nine years old. When I told my friend Benji that I didn’t want to marry a girl, he said that I would die and burn in some place called Hell for ever and ever. The Bible told him so. I told him the Bible also said that you have to give your money to the poor, so his daddy would be burning with me because he didn’t. He said that part was taken out of someplace called Contax. Can you tell me where this place is?

Dear Stevie: I think you mean “context” which, in your case is not a place but a state of mind. People like your friend use it in a process we call “faxilataturia” on Falloonia. It means to ignore anything that is inconvenient. It is contra-related to the process of “redolataturia” which means to ignore anything that is stupid and which you should use when your friend Benji tells you something.

Dear C.W.: I am a descendant of Thomas Wood Forrest. My family owns one of the largest real-estate brokerage firms in the United States.  I don’t want my country to expect me to pay for socialized medicine from my trust fund. How may I best go about stopping this evil idea?

Signed – Howie

Dear Howie: It is confusing to a visitor from another planet as to why some in your species distrust socialized medicine while they—almost joyfully it seems to me—embrace the notion of socialized housing. From government-backed housing loans to mortgage-interest deductions, your country subsidizes home ownership in a manner unheard of throughout the Galaxy. In fact, it is rare in the Cosmos to find a species that allows profits to be made from the provision of basic needs. But, more to your point, someone told me recently that one of your species’ primary religious documents mandates that the rich give their money to the poor. Why don’t you try that and perhaps health care will take care of itself?

Dear C.W.: My wife snores something awful. Do Falloonians snore? If so, is there a cure?
Signed – Desperate

Dear Desperate: To answer your first question, Fallonians do not snore. They do, however, as they grow older, tend to use the “rest and recharge” period to secretly discharge the buildup of noxious gasses from their digestive systems. I am told that in some of the older unit pairs, this occasionally results in violence, an otherwise rare occurrence on our planet. More to your point, I recommend that you simply rejoice, as you lie awake, in the fact that you are not a Ligeniatorian. The females of that species, on a certain night during their gestation period, invade the bodies of their spouses in order to incubate their eggs. Then they must find a new spouse. So, from a universal perspective, consider yourself damned lucky.

Dear Fans: Please forward your
letters to Big Dope for the next few days.
I will be "out of pocket." - C.W.

Dear C.W.: My Husband is a complete dope. He wanders around all day pretending to talk to an alien. I can’t depend upon him for anything. In addition, he snores at night and his feet smell awful. I am thinking about taking a baseball bat to him and his little buddy. I know that my people would not blame me but do you think there would be galactic repercussions?
Signed: Bare-Handed Momma

Dear, Dear. I must run now. Out of space. I’ll get back to you.

154. Skill

“Come on man, I need to borrow some money.”

“Why?”

“Just need to. That’s all.”

C.W. had assumed one of his strangest shapes yet. The best description I can offer is somewhere between a contestant in a break-dancing contest and Larry the Cable Guy. It could really put you off your feed, if you get my drift.

“Where in the world are you going that you need money?

He paused, looked around, and gave in. “Hot Springs, man.”

“Hot Springs? Why?”

“I have some friends visiting.”

“You have friends? From where?”

“Two from Donstacoree, one from Honsticono, and one from Evaratunicky++.”

“From where?”

“Out in the Galaxy, man. Just out in the Galaxy.”

“You have friends visiting from outer space?”

“Yes. They’re on a fact-finding mission.”

That’s where I had to stop and absorb it all. “Fact finding?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of facts?”

He squirmed and looked away. “You going to lend me some money or not?”

“What kind of facts?”

He took a deep breath. “Seems that the word is out, man.”

“What word?”

He looked up and thought before answering. “That your species sets some inter-galactic standard for irrationality in thought patterns.”

“Oh. I thought they might be mining some secret data. So how much do you need?”

“Oh, a thousand would do.”

“What?”

“Maybe a little more if you could spare it.”

“What is up, C.W.? Where are you going?”

“To the casino.”

“You want me to give you money so you can gamble?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Casino gambling is illegal in your state. We’re going to play electronic games of skill. Don’t you see the point?”

“Quite frankly… no.”

“I’m showing them a good example of irrational thought processes”

“Oh?”

“You really do deserve the name ‘Big Dope,’ don’t you?”

“Say again?”

“According to your species, betting money against a human dealer is gambling, which is forbidden in your state. Betting against an electronic device is ‘enjoying a game of skill’ and quite legal, although you lose your money in equal proportions either way.”

“Well,” I said. “It makes sense to some people.”

“Not to the Honsticonoian.”

“Why not to him?”

“Because he is …”

“Don’t tell me,” I interrupted. “Electronic.”

“Exactly. Now can I have the money? Those women are charging by the hour.”

“Those what?”

“Working girls. We found them at the bus station when I picked up my friends.”

“You found women at a bus station that want to go on a trip with you?”

“They promised us a good time, man.” He winked. “If you know what I mean. Gonna cost, though.”

“C.W.” I said. “Would it surprise you to learn that paying a woman to have sex with you is illegal?”

“Oh,” he said. “We would never pay them to have sex with us.”

It seems that your species has an uncommon attachment
 to things bright and shiny - a trait shared
with your evolutionary cousins, the blackbirds. - C.W.

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“No, we’re paying to make a movie of them having sex with us. That’s legal.”

“I can’t believe what I just heard.”

He offered me a wide grin. “Your species really is marvelous at times,” he said.

153. Worries

“Your species sure has a lot of things to worry about. I’m compiling a list for the Falloonian Elders. What a mess.”

I couldn’t disagree, although this was coming from the mouth of a comely young lady who appeared to be on the verge of childbirth. That is to say, it was the Alien himself, or herself, in this case, it having joined me on my walk through the park.

“You are right,” I said. It is disturbing if you think about it.”

“Oh, I do,” she said. “I think about it even more now.” She patted her belly.

“One would think so,” I said, playing along with the scenario.

“I’m having a baby, you know.”

“I had guessed as much.”

“I want to have several.”

“Good luck with that.”

“But the news worries me.”

“That seems natural. There are certainly things in our future that should concern us.”

“Oh? What’s bugging you in particular?”

I looked at her. “Well, the planet will start to run out of drinking water during that one’s lifetime.”

She stopped and turned to me with a look of total shock. “Who says so?”

“The world’s scientists,” I said.

She relaxed, “Oh them.”

“Yes them, the ones who also say our planet is in the process of frying.”

“Don’t you worry about them. That’s all just stuff they say to scare us.”

“Who told you that?”

“It’s on the news every night. You just have to watch the right channel.”

I was confused. “I thought you were worried about things.”

“Oh I am,” she said. “But real things, not that sort of stuff.”

“Like what, then?”

“You silly. No wonder everyone calls you ‘Big Dope,’ the way you act.”

“You’re the only one who calls me that,” I said. “Other than my wife. But anyway, what things are bothering you?”

“Well, for one thing, we still don’t know who killed President Kennedy.”

This time it was I who stopped. “Uh, yes we do. It was Lee Harvey Oswald.”

“Well that’s what they want you to think.”

I sighed.

“So what real things do you worry about?” She said. She looked at me with a blank look on her face.

“Well,” I said. “In addition to the ever-increasing likelihood of a nuclear weapon falling into the hands of terrorists, there is the matter of the Amazon rainforest.”

Her look changed to one of suspicion. “What about it?”

“Other than it cools the entire planet by one or two degrees, Celsius, or that one-fifth of the world’s fresh water flows through it, or that it absorbs 300 million tons of carbon dioxide per year?”

“And? What’s your point?”

“It could disappear by the year 2080, according to some estimates,” I said. I gestured toward her protruding stomach.”

“Oh, fol de rah,” she said. “Here’s what’s really got me worried.” She pointed to a newsstand where the daily posted a headline announcing that another state (not ours) had approved same-sex marriages.

“This worries you?”

“Do you think I want my little boy to marry another little boy?”

“Wouldn’t you, if it made him happy?”

“He’ll be happy about things I tell him to be happy about,” she said, snipping her words.

“Well he couldn’t be happy about the possibility that there won’t be any middle class in his America.”

“There you go again, worrying about silly things while there are real concerns.”

Don't you worry about the Amazon Rainforest.
By the time it is gone, I'll be basking in the
tropical sun at my cabin in northern Manitoba. - C.W.

“Such as?”

“Buy me this newspaper and I’ll show you.”

“Show me what?”

“Wanda Sue may have been kicked off American Idol last night.”